Writing the Diary
Hermione doesn’t forget about the wraith, but she does put it to the side. Theo had received a letter back from his father in regards to their detention and was currently reading it aloud to her and Harry.
“I was surprised to hear you were able to align yourself with the Malfoy boy, but I suppose he must appreciate someone so willing to grovel. As much as it pleases me that you are finally growing a spine, do not waste it playing childish pranks. A bit of fainting is near pointless when there are so many other spells to choose from that garner far more satisfying results.” Theo reads the letter with a stiff tone, his shoulders hunched.
Hermione scowls, thinking of the spells she’d like to use on Lord Nott.
“And I thought my uncle was harsh,” Harry says, pushing the mashed potatoes around his plate glumly.
Harry had been tired in the two days since their detention.
Every once in a while he’d rub the back of his hand across his forehead like he was trying to get rid of the scar there through sheer will.
“He’s listed a handful of curses to get me started,” Theo adds, dropping the letter onto the table.
Hermione can’t help but glance at the list.
Furnunculus
Densaugeo
Serpensortia
Stupefy
Incarcerous
Langlock
She is certain Theo wouldn’t be able to cast any of these spells if he tried but they do give Hermione a few ideas.
“Well that was nice of him,” Harry jokes.
Theo sighs and tucks the letter in his bag.
Hermione would have incinerated it.
“At least he seems pleased with you,” she says.
Theo offers her a smile.
“And he finished by saying he doesn’t want me to return to the manor for Christmas so all in all things worked out perfectly well.”
“I’m not going back to Privet Drive for Christmas,” Harry says.
It is still two months out so Hermione could lie and say she plans on remaining in the castle, but she’s been trying not to lie to them. More than she has to, that is.
“The Malfoys will expect me back for Yule.”
Harry looks a bit disappointed and Theo blinks nervously.
“I’ll be fine. Who knows, maybe an asteroid will destroy the Manor between now and then,” she drolls.
The boys smile and she moves on to reviewing the charms assignment with them.
After Harry eats four more pumpkin pasties, they make their way to the Charms classroom.
“Settle in students,” Professor Flitwick says, climbing up to his podium.
Hermione finds her seat behind Harry and next to Theo and flips open her Advanced Charms text. She needs more practice with the typical wand movements, but she doesn’t have the energy to pretend today.
So she charms the marble in front of her and then spends the rest of the hour reading about a spell that charms a closet to cycle through outfits and pair robes.
“How long are we supposed to be able to hold it for?” Harry asks.
Hermione looks up from her book.
He and Theo are both turned around in their seats with their marbles giving a small vibration, but clearly not moving in the smooth figure eights they were aiming for.
“About a minute for a passing score, right?” Theo asks.
Hermione nods.
“I’m never going to get it,” Harry says.
“You should focus on the movement more than the spell. The crisper your movements, the better the marble will follow the instruction.”
Harry does as Hermione suggests and before the hour is up, the marble moves in smooth circles, keeping in motion for more than a minute.
He's a powerful wizard. He might even be powerful enough one day to protect himself from Tom. Until then, Hermione is going to teach him. Help him.
When she gets back to her dorm after supper, Hermione’s first thought is the wraith.
So as soon as she has changed out of her school robes into something more comfortable, she heads for her bedside.
Hermione pulls the diary from between the frame of her bed and the mattress.
It has been weeks since she's spoken to Tom.
She misses him. She used to dream about what her life might have been like had he not been vanquished by the Potters.
By her friend.
Had Tom lived, Hermione would have had a living companion. One who saw her value. Who treasured her.
He'd have spent time with her. She'd have learned at his knee. He'd have protected her from Lucius.
There is another you, languishing in the forest. She writes on the first page of the diary.
No hello, Sparrow?
She resists the urge to roll her eyes.
It seems lost. Perhaps being bound within these pages was the best thing that could have happened to you.
Yes, trapped in my adolescent form without the ability to use magic is incredible.
Hermione smiles.
Care for a visitor?
The ink sinks fast into the pages and then Hermione feels the familiar tug in her navel as she is pulled into the diary.
When Hermione falls through, she is in her school clothes. Tom is standing at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall with a cocked smirk on his face.
"You look good in green," he compliments.
Hermione does roll her eyes now.
Like this, so young, Tom is little more than a boy with a dream.
"Where are we off to tonight?" Hermione asks.
"I'm on duty," he replies, tilting his chin down at his prefect badge. "Thought we'd make the rounds." Hermione nods and lets him come close, taking her hand in his.
When she first met him within the pages of his diary, he had seemed so grown up.
Only six years older than her now.
"A particular night?" Hermione asks.
She had been shown fights in the corridor, wild pixies in the dungeons, illegal quidditch matches in the dead of night. And meetings with his knights. Conversations with his fellow snakes.
"A quiet one," he answers.
They walk through the halls in quiet comfort, everything just the same in this world as it is in hers. Except the colours bleed a little bit here. At the edges.
"I met Myrtle," Hermione says after they reach the second floor.
Tom sneers, but there is a line of discomfort in his shoulders..
"A means to an end," he says, trying to sound nonchalant.
"She is incredibly annoying," Hermione says.
His smirk widens.
"I didn't know she would come back as a ghost," he defends.
Hermione laughs.
No apology for having his pet kill the girl.
Rather, just that she might be an annoyance in Hermione's life.
"Do you think that you could become whole? If I were to release you from your tethers?" Hermione jumps straight in.
He turns to look at her squarely.
"Why do you ask such a thing?"
"I sincerely doubt this is the survival you were imagining when you were creating your-”
"You presume too much. I have no interest in finding out what might happen should one of my creations be destroyed.”
“I didn’t say destroyed, Tom, did I?” Hermione snaps.
Tom stops walking and Hermione realises they are on the second floor, the sound of a couple students snogging around the bend floats down the hall.
“Release me from my tethers. It doesn’t sound particularly appetising. I am rather a fan of my earthly tethers.”
Hermione sneers.
“From between the pages of a book?” She asks, not caring how cruel it is.
“But not every fractal resides within the object I selected. The piece of myself that you encountered in the forest is proof enough.”
“Again, surviving off the unicorns in a scrap of black fabric is sad.”
He grabs her arm now, pushing her into the wall and bringing his face close.
“You do not tell me how to live. What to do. I tell you. My basilisk is notably at rest. No muggleborns dead in the bathroom. If you cannot even do as I ask, what good are you?”
Hermione shoves him away and ignores the stinging in her eyes. She will not cry in front of Tom.
“What good am I?” She asks, almost wanting an answer.
Afterall, he is right. She hasn’t done any of the things she is meant to. Has been outright ordered to. Lucius uses her for trivial matters that do little more than add more gold to another room in the Malfoy vaults.
He is breathing heavily. She hadn’t realised.
Tom looks tired. Exhausted. Like a student studying for their NEWTs. Like a kid.
“When the time comes, there is a ceremony that will give me back my form. End of discussion.” That is all he says.
He doesn’t have an answer for her.
“You think.” She shouldn't have said it.
He could kill her. Not in here, not really. But his followers will bring him back at some point. And then- then he could kill her.
“You infuriate me, Sparrow,” Tom says, smirking.
Hermione remembers how much she’d hated it early on. The nickname.
“I have to go back,” she says, softer now that he has apologised.
In his way.
“This is not the conversation I wanted to have,” Tom says.
Hermione nods, fully aware of the fact that he’d wanted to discuss the basilisk.
Opening the chamber.
Driving out the impure from Hogwarts.
“We’ll talk soon.”
And then Hermione is back in her dorm room, the diary open in front of her, ink fading into the page.
Goodnight Sparrow.
Hermione closes the diary and slides it back into the space between her bed and the wall.
“You- how did you?” Pansy Parkinson stammers from across the room.
Hermione hadn’t noticed her.
She appears to have been rifling through Hermione's desk drawer.
Hermione looks at Pansy's hand and ignores her words.
She is holding Hermione's hairbrush. The one that is magically charmed to calm errant hairs and leave her curls looking perfectly coiffed.
She glances up at Pansy's hair and frowns.
"It doesn't work on straight hair," she says.
Pansy looks a bit frozen.
"The brush," Hermione continues, reaching for the exposed corner of the diary and vanishing it to the shelf in the restricted section on dark cleaning spells. No one bothers with that shelf. “It is meant to style curly hair. It won't help with yours."
"I wasn't-" Pansy continues before her face twists into a glare. "What were you doing?"
Hermione has no intention of sharing her comings and goings with Pansy Parkinson.
"The brush won't work, but the comb will."
Pansy opens her mouth.
“In the top drawer,” Hermione continues before the girl can find her words.
Pansy glances down and sets the brush on the top of the vanity.
“I should tell Professor Snape about what I just saw,” Pansy says, chin slightly tilted back.
“You would look so lovely with that static under control.”
Pansy squints her eyes at her.
“You can borrow it, if you like. And the hairpins. You should pull some hair away from your face.”
“I should forget that you just emerged from a book in exchange for a comb and some hairpins?” She asks, sneering.
Hermione stands from the edge of her bed.
“Or I can show you exactly what is lurking inside that book’s pages. Trust that you will not find your way out so easily.”
Pansy takes a moment and Hermione is nearly impressed at her ability to keep her emotions in check.
“Fine,” she says, once she’s decided she’d rather not risk the diary.
Hermione is glad she didn’t call her bluff.
Tom would never let Pansy into his sanctuary. Not in a world where he can’t actually kill her.
Besides, Hermione would have to let her out eventually. Probably.
“Right choice.”
“Why do you live with Draco?” Pansy asks.
Hermione isn’t sure where the question comes from. None of the girls in their dorm talk to her. And she is fairly certain Draco has been more than clear about Hermione’s place in the Malfoy family.
“Lord Malfoy and his wife are my guardians.”
“But why?”
Ah, so she wants the dirty truth of it all.
“I think I’ll wait and see how you handle what you saw tonight before I share anything else.”
Hermione isn’t comfortable with any part of this interaction.
Nobody knows that Lucius killed her parents. That the man who gave her a place to live also caused her immeasurable pain.
“Alright. I suppose I’ll just have to ask Draco.” And then Pansy leaves.
Hermione isn’t worried. Draco will tell people that they did it out of the goodness of their hearts. Not that his father is a murderer.
She sits back down on her bed and tries to figure out if she is concerned by Pansy Parkinson’s busybody personality.